


Games We Play

by RoverMaelstrom



Category: Dystopia Rising (Live-Action Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Assassination, Bourbon Saints, Gen, Rovers Do It Better, Sainthood of Ashes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 17:51:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoverMaelstrom/pseuds/RoverMaelstrom
Summary: Just a little slice of life from the perspective of a sometimes-assassin in the Bourbon Saints who's balancing out a bit of wrong done to the innocent. Not tied to any specific character in play, just a bit of fiction set in the world at large.





	Games We Play

**Author's Note:**

> REMEMBER! It's fanfiction and so things that would be a no-go at game aren't necessarily off the table. CHECK THE WARNING TAGS BEFORE YOU READ THIS!

The brightly adorned girl sauntered her way down the boardwalk, eyeing the gathered crowd. Her fiery red hair was up in a high ponytail, cascading down from the top of her head, her eyes, lined with heavy black liner and accented with shockingly bright blue shadow, flicked from person to person, and her lips, just a bit too red to be natural, curved in a smile that promised and beckoned. She moved slowly, hips leisurely sashaying back and forth, twitching the hem of her skirt just right for the patterns to draw any onlooking eyes up to it's wearer's assets. Though her path seemed purposeless, she gradually worked her way down the string of brightly lit cathouses and saloons, demurring earlier offers, until she spotted the trio of young pure bloods sulkily sprawled around a table outside of one of the drinking-only establishments. Without seeming to alter her aimless wandering, she began to work her way towards them, pausing a few feet away from their table to lean against a railing and look out over the bayou. As her eyes studied the moon that brightly illuminated the swamps below, her ears busily listened to the conversation behind her.

“I still don't understand what the fuck that proprietor was fucking on about! So fucking what if the girl bled to death? Shit, man, she's HIS stock, it's not my fault she wasn't made of sterner stuff! What the hell am I supposed to do, stop in the middle of things and patch her back up? How am I supposed to tell the difference between just enough blood and too much! She was just a fucking slave, anyway...it's not like he won't get her back from the morgue watchers. But noooo, I gotta pay out the ass anyway, far more than one measly slave is worth! And I still get banned from the best network in town, despite how much money I've thrown at them over the years. Fucking bullshit, I tell you. When my father hears of this, see how they like losing access to their trade networks! He won't stand for it, I tell you!”

As his companions offered sympathy and agreement, the girl clenched her fists tightly together for a moment before relaxing again and slowly stretching out over the railing, bending at the waist and causing her already short skirt to slide up over her rump, exposing the expanse of pale skin beneath it. She hummed softly for a moment, then slid back down to the deck to resume her previous position. From behind her, she heard the first speaker tell his companions to get lost and not to expect him back until the morning. As the chairs scooted back and farewells were said, a very different smile briefly flashed in the moonlight – no promises, no allure, just pure predatory glee. The girl didn't move, didn't even twitch, as she felt a figure approach behind her. It was only as the body of the young pureblood pushed up behind her, pinning her to the rail, that she gave any indication that she even knew he was there.

As the pureblood pushed into her, pinning her, the girl let out a short, frightened yelp and tried to twist around, but a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, stopping her mouth and freezing her in place. His breath tickled her ear as he leaned forward and said, conversationally, “I've had my eye out for a good whore all night, but nothing remotely worth my time's wandered by. Today's your lucky day, princess...you'll be a good girl for me, won't you?”

She nodded, relaxing, and waited for him to let her move. He laughed and stepped back, keeping hold of her wrist as if he didn't quite trust her not to bolt. She looked at him with wide eyes, saying nothing, clearly deciding that protestation would be a poor choice. He dragged her behind him towards one of the alleys leading away from the boardwalk, pulling her along until they reached a door with a dim candle in front of it and a crudely written sign indicating hourly rates tacked to it's front. As he rapped on the door and passed his money through to the bouncer who opened it up, her free hand slipped into the folds of her jacket and, after a moment, a small bottle on a string was quietly lowered down to the street and left, the string silently coiling on top of it. The pair moved down a narrow hallway, past cubicle doors that didn't quite do a good enough job of muffling the sounds that came from within. At last, the man opened one of the the doors and pulled the girl through, clicking the lock behind him.

The room was dimly lit by a kerosene lamp mounted high on the wall. A mattress lay on the floor, next to a small chest. On the walls, shackles dangled at various heights, the cold metal dark against the light color of the mattress. The pureblood reached up and turned the wick, bringing the brightness up in the room, and shoved the girl towards the mattress, laughing as she sprawled across it. His face twisted in a mocking smirk.

“It's been a terrible couple of days for me, girl. I do so hope you make it up for me – not that you'll remember, of course.” With that, he dropped on top of her, straddling her chest, and slapped her smartly across the face. Her wail seemed to invigorate him and he reached down, grabbing her hair and roughly pinning it to the bed with one hand as his other hand loosened his pants and slid them down, exposing his cock. He leaned forward, putting pressure on the points of the girl's jawbone until her mouth popped open, and thrust his cock in, a cruel smile on his face. So caught up was he in the expression of terror on the face underneath him that he failed to notice, for a moment, the small sting where the girl's gloved hand flexed around his left buttocks.

It was only a moment of inattention, though – as the poison coursed through him, he felt his entire body lock up and his control over his own muscles vanish. He started to fall forward, but the small body underneath him pushed up and he landed sideways on the mattress, pants bundled around his knees, cock already going soft from the lack of blood flow. His eyes were wild as the girl reached into her pocket and pulled out a small flask, uncorking it and pouring it down his throat. Before he could even process burning in his throat, the girl had already cut his shirt partway, exposing the bare skin above his heart. He had a moment to panic – but only a moment. The small, slim dagger slammed down, slicing through his heart and turning his world into an ocean of pain. He tried to scream, but his vocal cords refused to respond, only choking out a harsh whisper. As the blood spurted from his heart, he saw the girl reach into her jacket once more, again pulling out a small flask. And now it was her turn to pressure his jaw open fingers digging in against the pressure points. She lifted his face, turned him towards the wall, and poured the liquid down his throat.

He coughed, gasped, and tried to flail – he had no idea of what had happened, or why his chest was ripped open and soaked with blood. Again, he had only a moment for confusion, only a moment to recognize the shackles on the walls of his favorite discreet little playpen, before the knife came down and severed his jugular and the darkness rose up and claimed him.

The girl looked down with a critical eye, and then quickly but thoroughly searched his body, stripping him bare. She re-dressed him in his ruined clothing, slicing it a few more times here and there, and, with everything else tucked into the various pockets of her jacket, unlocked the door and cautiously peered out into the hallway. Finding it empty, she headed towards the door, her hand fishing in her pocket again. Peering around the corner into the front alcove where the bouncer sat, his back to her, she silently took a minute to study the man. Finally, nodding to herself, she softly padded over and, before the large man knew she was there, she caressed the back of his neck with her gloved hand, again pushing the tip of her glove into the skin, again injecting a fast-acting paralytic. Reaching around his head, she quickly pressured his jaw open and poured three more flasks, one after the other, down his throat. As he coughed in shock, the poison in the third flask freeing him from his paralysis but rapidly liquefying his internal organs, she sliced his neck open, letting the arterial spray fan out in front of him, dousing everything in a nice coat of blood. She quickly pulled the keyring from his belt and unlocked the cashbox, dumping all of the accumulated payments from the night into a soft cloth bag, and then sliced the bouncer's shirt in several places as his dead eyes stared unseeing past her. After concealing the bag under her jacket, the girl flipped up her hood and quietly walked out into the alleyway, closing the door behind her.

********

Mariposa slipped into the back door of the small compound on the edge of Bourbon Saints. She smiled at the young priest on night guard duty and ducked into the main chapel, skirting around to the back and stepping through a narrow doorway to a short hallway. Dropping her clothing and gear in the first room, she turned and walked across the hall to the bathroom and gratefully stepped into the shower, a scrap of cloth and bar of soap already in her hand. As the warm water cascaded down, she scrubbed the powder from her hair and face, returning the both to their usual shades. She briskly scrubbed all over, watching the colors swirl in the candle light around the drain, and then set both cloth and soap to the side and just let the water run down her face and body, letting everything wash past and drain away. She rinsed her mouth out, spitting the water out multiple times before quenching her thirst. Finally, she turned the handle off again and toweled off, then padded back across the hall.

Sitting on the floor and sorting through her things, she finally began to tremble. It had been ages since things had gotten that close. She closed her eyes, willing herself to last just a bit longer, and pulled out her notebook and pen. Settling into her bed and wrapping the covers around her, she began to write out the events of the evening. With luck, the two dead men would look at the scenario and assume that there had been a robbery, assume they'd just had the bad luck to run into smart thieves who had access to a brewer. She finished her summary and tucked it into the bag of coins, then poured the rest of what she'd pulled off the pureblood into it as well. Wrapping up the slightly blood spotted dress and the oh so useful gloves, she padded out into the main chapel and put both into the offering box for the priests to find in the morning. She hoped the girl got better – no matter how good a headshrink, she knew it took more than an afternoon to wipe that kind of terror from a mind. Hoping that the knowledge that her death had been balanced by that of her murderer, Mariposa cleared her mind and headed back to her bed, curling up tightly under the blankets and willing herself to sleep.

She had nightmares, but when she awoke, all she remembered were icy blue eyes.


End file.
